


What the Desert Wind Brings

by Geckos_climbing_pole



Series: To Catch a Polecat [2]
Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-08
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-05-12 11:55:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5665231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geckos_climbing_pole/pseuds/Geckos_climbing_pole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Our shy Polecat has another gift for his favourite musician.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What the Desert Wind Brings

**Author's Note:**

> More in the tale of Gecko and Doof <3  
>   
> Set in [HallowedNight's](http://archiveofourown.org/users/HallowedNight/pseuds/HallowedNight) [**Blood and Clay**](http://archiveofourown.org/series/260212) verse (which is amazing).
> 
> More information about my OCs that might make this fic make a bit more sense can be found here: [Gecko](http://all-doofed-out.tumblr.com/post/121200616131/gecko-war-boy-polecat)

A few days had passed since Gecko had tumbled headfirst into the Doof Warrior’s chamber and spoken to the little guitarist for the first time. The very thought of his chance encounter was enough to set Gecko’s pulse racing and his cheeks aflame. Once again the Polecat was by the perilously high skylight, this time having brought another gift he’d found whilst scavenging in the junk and scrap yard.

The Immortan Joe and his War Boys had amassed a whole collection of things from raids, looting, scavenging. The Old World had left an abundance of waste, and what had not been eradicated by nuclear fallout, or burnt to a crisp by a sick sun that had grown far too hot, the War Boys soon discovered beneath the sands, and twisted it to suit their needs. Anything that was yet to be found a purpose went to the scrapyard, or was tossed out a window to fall in more piles at the Citadel’s base, piles that were still carefully guarded from the surrounding Wretched. Even War Boy garbage was too precious for them.

Hesitantly, Gecko crept up to the rim of the skylight and peeked in. He was disappointed to see the Immortan’s Herald wasn’t in his chamber. Any other time he’d found a gift he’d just leave it on Doof’s floor, but this time he wanted to give it to the musician personally. As nerve-inducing as his last encounter had been, the Polecat felt emboldened by Coma’s invitation to come back.

Trinket trading or gift giving was not exactly uncommon amongst the Immortan’s War Boys. They’d do it to show affection or respect; tools, car parts, extra food - all handed over usually without ceremony, or, sometimes privately given in a much more intimate setting. A shiny new hubcap for your Driver to show you wanted to ride at his side to Valhalla in a glory of fire. A jackknife for the Lancer you'd known your whole half-life, who you spent every night with, learning again and again each curve of his body. It was an unestablished system the War Boys had created; for all they had apart from their machines was their bonds with one another: their blood and oil brothers, their partners to fuck and hold close and experience one of the only soft, warm, bodily pleasures the Wasteland could offer.

What to give a man like Doof though? The Immortan’s prize Herlad, who could call on Joe whenever he wished for whatever he wanted. Despite his rank though, the Doof Warrior seemed uninterested in luxuries. He even ignored the mattress Joe had bestowed upon him (he thoroughly disliked it for reasons unknown and left it barely touched), seemingly content with just his high-swinging hammock, and, above all else - his music. 

His chamber wasn’t lavish. The rejected mattress lay shoved against a wall in the corner, a few shelves carved into the rock held an array of various musical instruments and their parts, and other similar novelties. His cloth hammock nearly covered the whole expanse of the room from its high up fixture, with several metal hooks keeping it in place like a giant spider web. The most precious mask of his mother adorned the middle shelf in the centre, posed like a shrine. Unless in battle, Doof didn't wear his mother, instead tying a strip of red cloth around where his eyes should be. The most elaborate and eye-catching thing in the room was of course the magnificent and legendary double-necked axe, looking as ferocious and lively as some kind of twisted metal dragon as it rested in its stand. Coma had softer guitars too, an old acoustic and even a ukulele. There didn't seem much the little warrior was in need of.

Determined though, Gecko would scavenge the Citadel for gifts; he was unable to express his affection in any other way. Talking or getting close to the man just seemed to make the Polecat freeze up like a lizard that finds itself caught beneath War Boy hands.

Turning onto his back, Gecko pulled out his treasure: a curious metal disc with cords of twine attached to it. A thin metal pipe was attached to one of the cords; it was hollow, and looked like it had been shiny once. The other cords held nothing, so Gecko had tied feathers to them, feathers he'd pilfered from the nests the Wasteland birds would tuck away in the highest reaches of the crags, thinking they were safe. Gecko had no idea what the thing he'd found was or its purpose; it was probably some relic from the Old World. But it had intrigued him. He liked its shape, the smoothness of the metal.

The Polecat smiled as he held his trinket up, turning it over in his hands as he imagined Coma’s reaction to it. He hoped the attached feathers would please him, as he'd noticed the man had an affinity for soft things. The sun blazed down, glinting off the tarnished metal and warming the stone beneath Gecko’s back. It was quiet up here, except for the sound of the wind whistling over the cliffs. The anguished droning of the Wretched and the continuous mechanical sounds of his fellow War Boys as they worked seemed like muffled echoes from below. He yawned, closing his eyes, absent mindedly beginning to sing quietly to pass time. His song had no words or recognisable tune, Gecko just hummed soft noises, his voice gentle and soft from lack of use.

“Lovely voice.”

Gecko’s eyes snapped open at the sound of Doof below him. His fingers fumbled around the gift and it dropped, hitting Doof square in the face before bouncing onto the floor.

“FUCK, what the chrome-” Coma muttered before there was the sound of panicked, scraping of feet, and knew the silent War Boy was going to make a dash for it. “Gecko!” he called out, his voice firm, almost commanding. He heard the boy immediately pause.

Hardly daring to breathe, Gecko peered over the edge of the skylight, watching the musician as he curiously picked up the object and felt it over. The man's face relaxed into an expression of bliss when his fingers stroked down the feathers. He let out a little pleased noise. Gecko swallowed hard at the sight, gripping the skylight ledge so hard his knuckles were white.

“You dunno what this is, do ya?” Doof asked, as usual expecting and receiving no answer. Though he could feel Gecko was still there. He turned the trinket over in his hands again then held it up.

“’S'called a wind chime. Can make ‘em out of anythin’ really, then hang it up and listen to the music of the wind.” As he spoke, he climbed the rope up to his hammock and felt his way up the curve of the fabric to the edge of the skylight, easily keeping his balance despite the hammock wobbling. He heard a slight intake of breath and a small scuffle sound. Obviously his shy War Boy had scooted backwards as Doof got closer. Hadn’t bolted yet though. A definite improvement from last time.

Smiling, Doof tied the wind chime to one of the hinges of the skylight cover and let it hang.

“Mother had one.”

He paused for a moment, reliving a memory behind non-existent eyes. Then he threaded long fingers through the wind chime's hanging cords.

“’S'one’s broken though. No heavy dangly bits to make sound, ya see?” He explained, shrugging. Maybe it was something he could fix later.

Gecko still said nothing, but Doof could feel he was being watched intently. He sensed he was close enough to touch the boy if he reached out. But he stayed still, knowing how skittish the silent War Boy could be. It was tempting though; last time he'd had Gecko beneath him he'd felt soft, and it was amusing to see how even the slightest touch from Doof had turned him into a quivering mess. Hmm. Yes, it was very tempting to tease him a little more. But just like with the two headed lizards who'd crawl down his walls and eventually into his lap if he stayed still and quiet long enough, Coma knew he had to be patient.

After another minute of just the wind filling the silence, the little musician turned away.

“Ya can stay if ya like,” He grinned over his shoulder, flopping down onto his back and pulling his worn but well-loved acoustic guitar across his lap. “Can let me hear some more of that shiny voice of yours, hm?”

With that he began to play, long fingers deftly pulling at the strings to echo the wordless song Gecko had been singing earlier. But no soft voice followed, and after a moment's hesitation there was the sound of barefoot soles on stone. Doof knew the boy had once again made a run for it.  
  
Hmm. Disappointing.  
  
***

The next morning the Immortan’s Herald was awoken by the sound of gentle tinkling from above, like metal hitting metal but delicately so. He stood, feeling immediately for the wind chime and finding something different. Hanging from one of the empty threads was a screwdriver, no doubt one some Black Thumb would miss. Doof grinned. 

The next day he felt a spoon. The next he felt more feathers, which of course would make no sound but Doof didn’t care. They were soft.

The coming morning was filled with the soft melody of jingling as more small tools and metal scraps had been added. The guitarist let the calm, metallic tones wash over him as he lay in his hammock. It sounded so very like the one his mother had owned, from a time where Coma had not been the Doof Warrior, but just a boy with his mother in a cave that would be filled with endless songs and music of the Old World. 

He stood, touching all of the wind chime's new additions again, each one a reminder that his silent watcher had visited him that night. It was strangely flattering. Gecko was still a mystery with his weird ways, but there was something curious about him. He was fun to play with at any rate.  
  
Now, for Doof to actually _get_  Gecko in his room, and to stay _still_ when the boy spooked so easily - well, that was the challenge. He could always ask his drummers, he supposed. But where was the fun in that?

Doof sighed, linking his arms behind his head in thought. Then he chuckled to himself, a wicked idea forming in his mind before he rolled himself off and landed nimbly on the floor.

Perhaps he could find a use for his barely-touched mattress after all.


End file.
